


Wrong Directions

by Aruse



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, No Blood, No Sex, Nothing underage, brief mentions of sam/dean, but he's in there, dean is eleven in the beginning, like... idk i feel weird adding him as a character, sam is seven in the beginning, slight mention of violence near the end, they don't even kiss, they get older as it goes, veeery slight sam/dean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-05
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-24 19:38:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6164344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aruse/pseuds/Aruse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John thought it was a demon, Dean thought it was, too, and so did Sam. And then Dean met the 'demon'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wrong Directions

**Author's Note:**

> I don't condone serial killing, cannibalism, necrophilia, or any other negative part of his life. This is purely fiction, but sadly, the crimes were not.

Dean was eleven when his dad dropped him and Sam off in some stupid motel just outside of Milwaukee, Wisconsin. It was another demon, hunting people in a large city this time, which had surprised their father. Demons usually stuck to smaller cities, hell, the suburbs were more likely a place for a demon to be than in the middle of a large city, but that was what happened, and John had to take care of it.

 

That night John packed his duffel and checked it over three times to make sure he had everything he'd need to kill the monster and protect himself.

 

“Watch your brother,” he grumbled over his shoulder to Dean, who said, “yes, sir,” just like always, then went back to doing just that. Sam sat at the table with a box of old, broken crayons and a torn up coloring book that Dean had ‘picked up’ from one of the diners they’d gone to on their way to the new case. He swung his legs a little, his toes nowhere near the ground, as he colored the sky a light blue and the trees a dark green. That was something Dean had noticed about Sam. He wasn't very creative in the sense that he colored what he saw, he copied what was real, but Dean knew his brother had an active imagination, one that would either be his downfall or his key to success. Dean knew it would be put to good use either way.

 

“De,” Sam murmured, throwing a red crayon at his face. Dean startled to attention and looked at his younger brother, offering a small smile.

 

“What's up, Sammy?” he asked and walked over from where he'd been sitting.

 

“I'm hungry,” Sam said as he colored in the sun. “Can we have burgers? Dad said we could when we got here, but he didn't get any.”

 

“Yeah, Sammy, we can.” Dean laughed a little at the slight whine to Sam's voice and nodded. He grabbed some of the money their dad had left and shoved it in his pocket, as well as the key to the room. Putting on his shoes, Dean looked over at his younger brother.

 

“No leaving, okay? And don't answer the door unless it's me or dad,” he said firmly, not like their father would have come back before he had to.

 

“Yeah, okay, Dean, I know,” Sam said and flipped through the coloring book to find a new picture.

 

“I'm serious, Sam,” Dean said and shrugged on his coat, checking to make sure his knife was in the large right pocket. “Even if it's the cops, don't answer.” He frowned when he saw Sam roll his eyes, hoping his brother knew how serious he was, and that he really should listen. “I'll be back soon...”

 

\--

 

It wasn't too cold out when Dean started to walk toward a fast food place he'd seen when they first rolled into town. The night air felt good on his face while his jacket kept him warm, his hands shoved in the deep pockets, the Spring sky clear above the buildings as he walked. Dean smiled to himself as he looked at the tall structures.

 

Usually the Winchesters were confined to small towns and dusty highways, so it was rare for Dean to see the large infrastructure of big cities, to watch the bustling crowds, to hear the cars and noise and people. The sounds of humanity buzzing around him. While it was late, nearly midnight, there were still a fair amount of people out on the streets and sidewalks. The general atmosphere made Dean feel a little safer. Bigger crowds meant a smaller chance of a monster being around or attacking.

 

Dean gasped softly when he bumped into someone, distracted by a neon sign across the street.

 

“Oh, crap, I'm sorry,” he said quickly and looked up at the man, hoping he wasn't too angry.

 

“It's fine,” the man said, offering a small smile. “Really, don't worry about it.”

 

That... Surprised Dean. The guy wasn't mad and actually smiled at him, even if it was only a little, but the kindness was appreciated.

 

“Are you lost?” he man asked as he looked down at Dean from behind his glasses. “You don't seem to have an adult with you.”

 

‘Crap’ was Dean's first thought. ‘He's an undercover cop or some shit. Probably thinks I'm a hooker.’

 

“No, I'm not lost,” Dean said with confidence, then let it slip a little as he remembered his reason for going out. “Uh, actually... Could you help me find a fast food place? I'm just looking for somewhere to buy a burger.” The guy smiled again and nodded, looking around a little before he motioned for Dean to following him and started walking.

 

“You must not be from around here,” the man said after a few moments of walking. “Most people know where restaurants are.”

 

Dean chewed on his lip for a second, really not wanting to make conversation, but answered anyway.

 

“Uh, no, not really. We moved up here a few weeks ago,” he answered and glanced at the man who kept his eyes forward, seeming to scan the road and sidewalk ahead of them. “I guess I should try and start figuring out where things are...” The guy nodded.

 

“I'm JD, by the way,” he said, looking over and down slightly at Dean, the corner of his mouth pulled up in somewhat of a smile.

 

“Um, Alex,” Dean lied, knowing he couldn't give out his real name or anything like it. “Does... JD stand for anything? Like a middle name?”

 

The man shook his head, hands in his jacket pockets.

 

“Just JD,” he murmured, a small frown on his face as a car turned onto the street they were walking down, but passed them quickly. “We’re almost there, the restaurant is just up on the next block.” Dean nodded and looked around as they walked, starting to get a little nervous as he walked farther and farther away from Sam and the motel,  also noticing that there were less and less people as they went.

 

“Uh, look,” Dean murmured and slowed down, “I should probably get back home, my dad’s waiting for me, says I shouldn’t be out too late.” JD nodded and stopped walking to stand next to Dean.

 

“He’s right,” JD said, looking at Dean. “There have been some missing persons cases going around lately, no one knows where they are or what happened to them... Somehow I don’t think you’d fit as the type of victim the killer is going after... You seem too young in my opinion.”

 

Dean swallowed and had to tear his eyes away from JD’s face because he started to feel a little self conscience under the man’s stare. It was late, there was apparently a murderer (which Dean knew was a demon), and he knew they had some hotdogs at the motel he could make for Sam, so Dean took a small step back.

 

“Um, thank you for trying to help me,” he said to JD, still not looking at him, “but I need to get back home. My dad is probably worried, and-”

 

“No, no, I understand.” JD smiled softly even though Dean wasn’t looking. “A dad should worry about his son.” His smile faltered a little before he looked down at the cement, shifting his weight. “See ya around...” With that JD walked away, keeping his head down, but Dean looked up.

 

“Thank you,” Dean called after him. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d just avoided something, that he was somehow lucky. He shrugged it off and walked back the way they had come. Eventually he found an older woman walking down the street and asked for directions to the fast food place, to which she happily pulled out a pad of paper and a pen, writing the directions down. Dean tried to refuse the ten dollars she gave him, but eventually accepted it and thanked her kindly before following the directions.

 

\--

 

“Food,” Dean said as he walked into the motel room, dropping the paper bag onto the table. Sam sat on the bed and stared blankly at the TV.

 

“Uh, thanks,” Sam murmured and got up, looking like he could fall asleep at any moment, which Dean knew meant that he’d been up waiting for his older brother.

 

“I didn’t think I was gone that long,” the older boy said as he grabbed a burger from the bag and sat down on the bed after toeing his shoes off.

 

“You weren’t,” Sam said and shrugged. He sat at the table and ate his burger and fries, then paused for a moment. “I guess you were, I don’t know... I’ve been watching TV, but the only station that comes in is the news.”

 

Dean nodded and hummed as he took a bite of his burger. He thought for a moment about JD and walking with him, trying to find the fast food place, which had taken quite a while. After a few more seconds he took another bite and nearly choked.

 

“You okay?” Sam asked as he looked over at his brother, suddenly alert. Dean coughed and spit out his food on a napkin, setting the rest of his burger down and stood up to get the crumbled piece of paper from his jacket pocket.

 

“Shit,” he murmured as he looked at the woman’s directions. The statement sparked Sam’s interest and he walked over, looking at the paper.

 

“What? What’s wrong?”

 

Dean pushed past Sam and grabbed a map out of his duffel, opening it and finding one of the streets the lady had written down. He drew invisible lines with his finger and stopped at where their motel was.

 

“What was he doing?” Dean whispered and took a step back, looking at Sam's worried face, obviously confused and scared.

 

“There was this guy,” Dean elaborated, “and he said he was gonna show me where the fast food place was, but then I had a bad feeling about him and I left, he went his own way. Then I saw this lady and she gave me those directions and some cash, but the way that _he_ was taking me was in the opposite direction...” He swallowed hard, not wanting to think about what could have happened. “I-It’s nothing, Sammy. You don’t have to worry.”

 

Sam chewed on his lip, hoping that Dean was right.

 

\--

 

Dean tried to forget about the man over the course of their stay, trying not to let the incident get to him. Finally they left and slowly, between killing werewolves, burning bodies, and miles of backroads, he began to forget about the encounter, and not once did he bring it up to his father. Every now and then Dean heard people talking about more missing people in Milwaukee, and each time he’d look up and try to listen in, but he barely pieced together what was happening.

 

“There was no demon, Dean,” Sam said one day when they were on the couch of another generic motel room, his feet kicked up on Dean’s thighs as his back pressed to the arm rest. “Probably just some creepy dude kidnapping people... You don’t have to be this broken up about it.”

 

Sam had noticed the way Dean listened to people in diners, the way he’d keep glancing at anyone who mentioned Wisconsin. He figured it was about what had happened to Dean, but that had been nearly two years ago. He thought Dean was over that already, he’d moved on. Apparently Sam was wrong about that.

 

“Yeah, I know, Sam,” Dean murmured, his head resting back against the couch. “I just... I just have a bad feeling that we let something happen, something we could have stopped, something  _ I _ could have stopped. I can’t shake the feeling of being guilty.”

 

“Dean, you were eleven, you wouldn’t have been able to stop it even if it was a demon.”

 

Dean only nodded and rested his hand on Sam’s ankle, squeezing gently, looking over at him.

 

“I still feel bad about it,” he said softly. Sam sighed exaggeratedly, moving to sit up, facing Dean.

 

“It. Was. Not. A. Demon,” he said firmly, staring at him. “You couldn’t do anything about it, okay? People get hurt no matter what, people will always get hurt, they’ll always die. It’s not only up to you to save them. In this case the cops will probably handle it.”

 

“I know, Sam, but I was there, in Milwaukee! I could have stopped it!” Dean groaned and ran his hands over his face, falling back against the couch. “I could have saved them...,” he whispered. Sam frowned as he watched his brother, scooting closer to him, wrapping his arms around him and tucked his head under his chin.

 

“It’s okay, De,” he murmured, rubbing his shoulder. “It’s okay.”

 

\--

 

Dean was fifteen and sitting in some middle-of-nowhere diner when the waitress coming in for her shift ran through the door, yelling at the waitress behind the counter to turn the news to channel ten.

 

Their dad was out on a hunt and had left them two hundred dollars and their wits before catching a ride with another hunter and got the hell out of dodge to go kill some werewolf or rougarou or whatever excuse he’d used for leaving them alone this time.

 

“It was on the radio,” she said, waiting impatiently. “They said he had his head bashed in, and that there were two other guys with him.”

 

All eyes were trained on the old television set as the static image of a woman came into view, talking about how she was happy that a ‘monster’ was finally dead. Pictures of a prison were shown as a different woman spoke about failed security measures and a brutal murder, the promise of an investigation into the death.

 

“Serves him right,” a man said in a gruff voice, then went back to his coffee. ‘Apparently everyone but me knows what happened,’ Dean thought as he looked back at the screen.

 

_ “No one involved with the Jeffrey Dahmer case says that they’re surprised,” _ said the woman narrating the section of the news. Dean nearly choked on his food when a video clip of a man wearing an orange jumpsuit came onto the television, the video taken in a courtroom.

 

“Dean, you okay?” Sam asked from next to him, pulling his eyes away from the newscast.

 

“Uh, yeah,” Dean murmured and coughed a little, glancing at the screen, a shiver running down his spine as he looked at a different video of the man in what looked like a library. “Sammy, you remember a few years back when we were in Milwaukee and dad thought there was a demon there, but he could never find it? Like, there weren’t any omens, just missing people?”

 

“Yeah, I think so,” Sam said, pushing his fries around his plate, resting his jaw on his fist. “Why?”

 

“‘Cause that guy, Dahmer or whatever, I met him,” he said, making sure to lower his voice. That caught Sam’s attention and he looked over at Dean wide eyed. “The first night we got there I went to get burgers, and  _ that _ was the guy who was taking me in the wrong direction.  _ Him _ .” He pointed to the screen which showed Jeffrey Dahmer sitting in the courtroom. Sam looked at the television and then at his brother.

 

“Dean, that was like three years ago, it’s probably not him. That guy-”

 

“No, Sam, it was him, I’m sure of it. The glasses, the hair, I talked to him.” Dean sat back and ran his hand through his hair, letting out a slow breath. “He could have killed me,” he whispered, eyes getting wider.

 

“Oh, that freaks you out, but monsters don’t?”

 

“This is different, Sam. I had a knife, but what could I have done? He was taller than me, bigger. I could’ve ended up dead...”

 

Sam sighed and pulled Dean’s wallet out of his pocket, leaving a twenty on the table. He stood up and pulled his brother out of the booth and toward the door, leading him out to the Impala.

 

“You okay to drive?” Sam asked over his shoulder.

  
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, Sammy,” Dean said, even though he was still shaken, looking back at the diner one last time.


End file.
